GUARDIAN
by PanicButton
Summary: Carl is rescued by a stranger on a motorcycle, but what does this man want with him and how does he know who he is? Carl is offered protection and a safe place, but what is the man and his companion really after? OMC. Language, sexual references.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

_**When a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend: William Blake**_

**Arrows**

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><p>A lot had happened. People got killed, separated, lost. Some had found new secure places to live and love. Some had given up and taken their own lives. Some had their lives, what was left of them, taken by their friends, companions… travelling buddies. Life for the ones who fight on and don't give up and who have been lucky enough not to have fallen foul of the dead things – their lives carry on in spurts of action, lethargy, depression… extreme caution and fear. Not much time for love and bonds are made between people out of desperation and luck, rather than choice. Any hope that the world could recover was gone. There was no hope. Not any hope that the common man living by his wits on the streets new of. For these people, the scavengers and the fast and the cold hearted, they had no hope that things would ever change. No hope that they would live to an old age. No hope of regenerating the population. Keeping a child alive long enough for it to make a difference was almost impossible. Very impossible in the case of Rick who was right this moment running away from a hoard which was moving at alarming speed towards him and his son.<p>

They ran, stumbling, tripping and sucking in breaths of putrid air. Carl was slightly ahead of his father who had tried, and failed to stay awake during the night. He had slipped into a nightmare which now he was awake seemed to be replaying what he had just seen in his sleep. He had shaken Carl awake. Shaken him and told him to run. They had to leave their bags behind them. There had been no time. The Walkers were almost upon them, reaching for them and rotting their way forward, stumbling the way Rick now was as he watched his son pounding the road and running for his life. They couldn't outrun them. Rick knew this. They seemed to be coming from behind and to the sides. They were going to over-run the pair of them and their part in this story would be over.

They both took shuddered breaths as they topped the small rise in the road and spotted someone standing there watching. A man standing next to a motorcycle. At first glance, through the haze on the road and through the tears of panic in Rick's eyes, he thought it was Daryl. It wasn't though. He knew it couldn't be and he was very right about that.

'Run!' Rick howled at Carl… it was the last thing he said. Not the last sound he made though. He felt something slam against his shin and then to the side of his knee. It wasn't the Walkers. They hadn't quite caught up with them yet. He took a moment to look down at his leg which was giving way beneath him and saw two white arrows sticking into him. On his hands and knees on the blacktop he watched Carl's race towards the stranger who was slowly – maybe the world had slowed into some sort of crazy slow-motion – getting onto the bike and indicating to Carl… shouting something to him… gesturing at him to come with him.

The stranger was calling to Carl.

'Come on! Get on the back. Hurry! Keep moving. Hurry up boy! Get on here. I'll get you out of this mess. Get on, hold on tightly. Hold on tight boy. I'll save you. Don't stop running. Don't look back. Come on!'

Carl was sure, when he thought about it later, that he had looked back. He knew that he wouldn't have run away like a coward and left his father to the Walkers, but if he had, he couldn't remember doing it. He could remember that the world seemed to slow down. Every step he took felt like he was trying to run through tar. He could remember sliding onto the back of a big black bike and circling his arms around the stranger. He rested the side of his face on the back of this man… taking in the scent of leather, musk and sweat. That was all he remembered. If something else happened, Carl had forgotten, or perhaps nothing else did happen. The bike roared away, leaving Rick behind. Leaving the few screams echoing in his head, but that command for him to run was there and he fully intended to keep running if that was forever – which he thought it probably would be – that was what he would do.

The bike easily outpaced the Walkers. The countryside flew by in colours of yellow and brown. There was nothing to see even if the boy had opened his eyes, except maybe he would have realised that there was now another bike with them. It was another black bike thrumming down the road towards somewhere; some unknown place.

'I can't leave my dad!' The words howled in the ear of the person on the front of the bike. They went unheard, though and it was when the arms unwrapped and Carl was making the decision to just jump off the back that the bike slowed and came to a careful stop at the edge of the now empty road. The other bike pulled up slightly ahead and now Carl slid off the back and started to run back the way they had just come.

'There's nothing back there but death.' A voice called out.

Carl stopped and spun on his rescuer. 'I thought you were going to help!'

'You're here aren't you? You're not dead are you? A bit of gratitude would be nice. Not everyday someone comes along in the nick of time to rescue you from death.' This man's accent was clipped and sounded English.

An angry step forward from Carl as he fingered the gun at his side. 'I never asked to be rescued! I thought you were going to help.'

'Didn't daddy ever tell you not to take lifts from strangers? It's moot anyway. Your dear daddy is dead. The Walkers tore his arrogant self apart. You don't need him.'

Now the gun slid from the holster and was held up to point at the man. 'You take me back! I need to be sure.'

The person on the other bike now spoke up. He seemed to be not a lot older than Carl, maybe around sixteen years old, and stood there with a bow in a holster at his side and arrows in a quiver on his back. 'He went down. I saw. There's nothing to see unless you really want to see the remains. It's not a pretty sight as you should know. Why would you want to remember him like that? It will haunt you. It will screw you up further than this world already has. He's just bloody bones and…'

He was cut off by an angry gesture and some words from the other. 'Enough Sam. That's enough. There's no need for any of this. We saw you were in trouble and saw that there was no hope for the other one. No idea it was your father, and I'm truly sorry for that. Absolutely heart breaking for that to happen. I can't bring him back for you. I can't do that, but I can offer you some form of security from me and even from Sam over there. We've survived well so far.'

'I don't want your help.' The gun was wavering as tears streaked down Carl's grubby face. 'I can survive alone.'

'No, Carl. You can't survive alone. You only just managed when your dad was with you, as what just recently came to pass proves. I will guide you. I will ensure that you're safe. Believe me. I'm doing this for you.'

There was a snort of a laugh from the boy called Sam, but Carl was giving this man a very narrow eyed look. 'How did you know my name was Carl?'

'Ya dad called your name.'

'I don't think so.' Carl frowned.

'He surely did. How else would I know your name? I'm Floyd and I'm going to take care of you. Show you things… enlighten you, maybe? This here is Sam. Beware of him. He's a tricksy little fucker.'

'You don't understand!' Carl shouted out. 'I have to go back.'

'Never.' Floyd hissed between his teeth. 'Never go back, Carl; not unless it's unfinished business and there is nothing back there which is not completely finished. I'm not taking you back and I'll not permit you to go back. Let this be your first lesson. The second is to never run away, which was what you were doing and why you were caught in that situation. Never run away, Carl. Reassess. Retreat. Regroup and alter your plans, but never run away.'

'Unless the hounds of hell are chomping on your arse. Then you can run.' Sam added.

'My hat.' Carl seemed to whine.

'Hats are important. They keep the brain cool and steady. They can stop many a bad thing from happening, but that particular hat is lost. I'll get you another one.'

'It was my dad's.' The gun was replaced and Carl sat on the grassy verge at the side of the road. The man called Floyd joined him… sitting maybe a bit too close for comfort.

'Carl, there are many things you must have learnt since you first had to run from the dead and I'm sure that one of those things was not to become sentimental over silly things like a hat. You don't need a fucking… you don't need a hat to remind you of what a terrific and loving parent Rick was.' Floyd jumped to his feet. 'We have a way to go. There's a safe place up ahead. Get back on the bike and we'll go now. Have a bed to lay in tonight. Nice things to eat. Somewhere safe, kid. Come.' He gestured at the bike.

'How did you know my dad's name was Rick?'

'I'm a master guesser. He looked like a _Rick_ don't you think? Those watery blue eyes and face stubble, made up for a good Rick sort of person. Get on the bike, Carl. Now. I want to be back before it's dark. Sam stinks and needs a bath.'

'I need to replace a couple of my arrows too.' Sam pointed out with a small smirk on his slightly girly face.

They next pulled up inside a small warehouse. Carl slid off the back of the bike as the other two secured the doors they'd just come through and then began to unpack things out of the panniers on the bikes. To Carl it was obvious that they had been scavenging and had a strange collection of things. They had a large collection of bags of leaves and what seemed to be tree bark. There were mushrooms and twigs and bits of yellowed grass. For now he asked no questions, but he was taking it all in. There were clean clothes, a bottle of bubble bath, soap, a box of matches and a card container holding disposable lighters. There were a couple of flashlights and a load of batteries. There didn't seem to be any food and Carl's shock of losing his father so suddenly and not being able to say his goodbyes to him had sent his stomach into growling hunger. He was ravenous! He also felt afraid, sick, trapped and oddly also comfortable and safe. Now he looked around a bit more carefully seemed obvious that these two had been staying here for a while. There were cushions piled in one corner, there was a small stove to cook on. Carl could see piles of clothing, shoes, cigarette packets, cans of coffee, a container which looked to have sugar and canned food, beans, meat, vegetables, soups… the food was piled up on a shelf. There was a water pump, an old tin bath, which Sam was now pulling over next to where they had been lighting fires.

'Bath time.' Sam smiled at Carl. 'Want one?'

Carl shook his head and just stood looking around the small warehouse. 'You live here?' It was a stupid question. Of course they lived here but he couldn't think of anything else to say. 'How long?'

It was Floyd who answered. This man who Carl guessed was just under six foot tall was pulling off the leather jacket he had been wearing and hanging it on a peg on the wall. He pushed back long dark hair to behind his ears and gave Carl a small smirk. 'We've been living here a while. It's a safe place. Never seen any trouble. Strip. There's clean clothes over there. Sam, hurry up and get your bath ready. Carl… strip those filthy clothes off and find something else to wear, come here… let me help. You're taking far too long.'

Carl didn't want to strip! He didn't want this stranger to help him either! He wanted to sit – maybe on a cushion – and cry. Cry for everything he had lost since this plague of death started. He had nothing except what he was wearing to remind him of his past. His mother, sister and now his dad and even his hat were gone. Everyone he had started to get close to had died or left. Now this man wanted his clothing which he wasn't going to just hand over. He didn't want to wash off the dirt and look clean. He wanted to look how his dad would have remembered him. 'I need to just sit for a while.' Carl muttered and looked over at the cushions.

'Trauma too much for you, mate?' Sam asked. 'I'm telling you, like that was nothing, you know. I'm like Oh My Fucking God nearly every sodding hour when I'm with Floyd, for one reason or another. So I'm telling you… really, mate, take off those fucking clothes and find something clean to put on. Floyd, he likes loads of stuff, but he hates loads more and stinking, sweaty people is one of them… unless it's one of his days when he likes that, but then we're getting to a deep and dark place and oh my god, you've had a trauma, lost your daddy and all. Get the fucking clothes off.' Sam then went and readied his bathwater. 'No one's interested in your naked kiddy body… not today. Get over yourself!'

This small speech didn't do much to encourage Carl to do as he was asked and once again his hand flickered to the butt of his gun only to suddenly realise it was gone.

'My gun.' He looked over at Sam and then at Floyd who was standing watching the show from next to the bikes.

'You'll not be needing it. See? I'm unarmed too. Sam's not armed unless he's hiding something up his butt naked arse there. We don't need weapons. You have to learn to trust me. I only had one earlier because I didn't know what sort of reception we would be receiving. All was good though, don't you think? Strip. Get some clean clothes on. You can have Sam's water after he's finished. I'll not have you around me stinking the way you do.'

'Then I'll leave. Give me my gun back. You can't order me around.'

There was a hiss of air from Sam and a few quick strides from Floyd who seemed to be able to move much faster than someone ought to be able to. It was almost as though he teleported to be standing in front of Carl… too close… nose to nose. If Carl had licked his lips he would have come in tongue like contact with Floyd too. Floyd then moved his body forward until their chests pressed against each other and so he could talk directly into Carl's ear. 'You are not leaving. You need to understand that right now. You are not. You are equally not having your gun. I am going to protect you and you will learn that you will never lip me, never answer me back and never question me. You are mine now. I won you. Now… take those fucking clothes off and put something else on. Your stink makes me want to puke.'


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

_The food that enters the mind must be watched as closely as the food that enters the body: __Pat Buchanan_

**Dinner**

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><p>Bath-time for Carl was not a relaxed and happy occasion. Sam had splashed and washed in the barely warm water and left a couple of inches for Carl to use. There was no mistaking, in Carl's eyes, that he had any choice in the matter. The rescue had turned into something sinister and these two people watched him… watched everything he did. Even when he was trying to strip off for the bath he was being watched. His awkwardness pointed out by Sam who said that there was nothing wrong with nudity and proved the point by walking around without his clothes on, until Floyd snapped at him to put his pretty little arse away and stop messing around.<p>

'Carl needs peace and quiet. That is what we are going to have. This can and will work out.'

Nothing said seemed right. Everything seemed to Carl as though these two had been watching and waiting for that particular moment on the road. He was not going to let any of his suspicions or his fear show. He would never survive anything if he cried like a child and let what had only so very recently happened put him in further danger. He had been given a pair of jeans, a Tshirt and some sneakers for his feet. Floyd had offered to towel dry his hair for him, but Carl was not a child. He could do things like that.

'I don't need mothering.' He told them. 'I can do this.' But he was watching them as closely as they were watching back. Carl needed his gun to be returned and he now noted that his knife was also missing, yet Sam had a knife as did Floyd. When and how both of his weapons had been taken from him, he didn't know, but he certainly wanted them back.

'I need to defend myself.' Carl told Floyd as they sat on the squashy red cushions with a bowl of chili on his lap. 'I don't feel safe. I need my gun and knife.' He prodded the food with a fork and looked at Floyd for an answer.

He didn't get the one he wanted. 'I'm going to protect you. Carrying a weapon is un-necessary. If you are in the position that you need to arm yourself then you are lost. What has happened in the past is proof of that, Carl. The only thing you need to protect yourself from is your inner demons. Your pain and suffering. You need to protect your mind, which reminds me that I need to find you another hat, but that aside, you will not be carrying a gun. I rarely do. Today was special. Sam has his bow and we have knives… but that's for hunting and not protection.'

'Like today.' Sam nodded as he picked at the food in his bowl with his fingers. 'Today we hunted. Didn't bring the catch back with us though. It was too… well… just wasn't worth the trouble in the end.'

'What did you hunt?' Carl wanted to know.

'Pig.' Floyd told him. 'A nasty pig. It would have killed us if it could, but Sam here sorted it. Didn't bring it back though.'

Carl had wanted to ask more questions. He wanted to know what was going to happen. He wanted to tell them that he was leaving the following day and he had really wanted to say how delicious the food had been and to tell them that he was grateful for the rescue – even if it now felt more like a kidnapping – but he didn't. He felt foggy headed and drowsy and didn't even feel the bowl being taken from his tingling fingers. He didn't feel Floyd lay him back onto the cushions and cover him with a blanket. He was asleep before he had fully swallowed the last mouthful. Floyd and Sam stood over him for a while and watched. They then listened to the slow sleep-filled breaths and Floyd put an arm around Sam and kissed him gently on the lips.

'Good job! We did a good job.'

'Yup. Now… I'm going to make coffee and have a smoke. Shit, Floyd – this is going to go pear shaped. You know that. Today, good job, sure – tomorrow it's going to be a pile of hot shit and you know that. We shouldn't have shown ourselves yet.'

'It was time.'

'Why? Why now? Why not last year or the year before?'

Floyd gave Sam a peck on the cheek this time. 'Obviously, back then it wasn't the right time. I needed to wait. This is going to be good. I'll make sure of it.'

They walked together and in silence made a jug of coffee which they added sugar to and then took outside the warehouse to sit and smoke and look at the sky. It was a beautiful clear night and they lay there together, arms around each other smoking and talking softly to each other about the stars and the gods and angels. They spoke of demons and spells and enchantments and brews. They talked about smells and tastes. It was a beautiful few hours, but Carl spoilt it by suddenly screaming. A nightmare. Floyd knew that much.

'I should go to him.' Floyd got to his booted feet and flicked dirt off his arse. 'Sleep, Sammy-boy. Come inside and sleep.'

Carl's nightmare showed him exactly what had happened to his father. In this scream filled world he had fallen into he was not running away but standing watching his father as two arrows suddenly hit him in the leg. He saw his father fall to his knees and then the swarm caught up and a blood red filter covered the vision. In the nightmare Carl was screaming for his dad to run away, he was magically moving back and the Walkers were getting closer…

When he awoke just as the light was beginning to filter through the gaps under the door he could feel arms were around him and someone was breathing onto the back of his neck. For a magical moment Carl assumed that everything had been a nightmare and he sighed and shuddered and tried to get the images out of his head, but then someone spoke.

'Coffee? I've made coffee… and there's stuff to eat too.' It was the voice of the teenager, Sam.

Carl tried to sit, but the arms around him which at first he had assumed belonged to his dad, were holding him tightly in place. 'You had a nightmare.' The voice spoke onto the skin just above the green edge of the Tshirt he was wearing. 'Don't rush. Might be light headed. Nightmares can do that.' But the arms did slowly release their hold. 'Couldn't have you screaming like that. You understand don't you? Could have alerted all sorts of fuckers that we are here. Sound travels. It's OK for now though. All is good. Have coffee, a smoke, relax and we can start to get to know each other.'

'I thought it was all a nightmare.' Carl rolled onto his back, dragging the blanket tighter and pulling it up to his chin. 'I need it to have been that.'

Floyd was on his knees, again a bit too close for Carl's liking. This man seemed to like to be in other people's personal space, but now he pulled back slightly, placing a soothing hand on Carl's arm. 'It was a nightmare, boy. Everything is a fucking nightmare. Has been since the beginning of time. This complete shitting whole of a world is built on the dreams of those who require pain. They thrive on it and all the time we allow ourselves – yourself in this case – to feel that pain they will smile and deliver more. Pain breeds pain the same way that mistrust breeds hate and paranoia. That is a place in your mind that you really do need to steer clear of if you're going to survive long enough to make a difference, because you will. One day you will stand there, as a man and you will do something so remarkable and wondrous that all of this mess will suddenly have reason. Until then… I thought we should go back to where we picked you up yesterday and get that hat of yours and bury your dad if he's still there to find. I think he will be. That will give you the closure which will shut away the bad dreams. At least until the next horror happens, but we shall deal with things as they happen. Sam there is going to do what he needs to do, so we'll go just the pair of us.'

It wouldn't be safe. Carl knew that. He knew that none of this was _normal_ and that the further he got into this situation the harder it was going to be to get out of it again. The offer seemed genuine though. 'Thank you.' He muttered.

'Well no point in thanking me now. We've not done it yet and there is always the slim chance that I will change mind. Can't promise you anything, Carl. Can't promise you a fucking thing except that I will protect you in the best way I can.'

There was a clatter of something metal being dropped and Carl looked over to see Sam standing there in just an orange jockstrap and a frown. A cooking pan was laying on the ground next to him. 'And when you've got the time… me… you know, mate? Me. I would like a bit of your pally attention too. Fucker.' Sam snatched up the pan and put it back on the shelf. 'I knew this was going to happen. I fucking knew it.'

They rode out to where they had met the previous day. Carl wanted to know why there had been a change of mind. This Floyd person had been very sure the day previous that there was no point in going back. He held on tightly again, as instructed and rested the side of his face on the leather of the jacket Floyd was wearing. The smell was wondrous. A deep and rich smell of leather and a heady scent of musk. It made the trip feel as though it had taken minutes rather than hours. Carl was almost disappointed that they had arrived and he had to get off the back and…

'Sit your pretty arse right there on the grass. Don't move. Don't cry out. Don't do a fucking thing unless I indicate that you should. Is that understood?'

'I'm not a child.' Carl snapped back. 'There's no point in hiding this from me. I am ready.'

'No one is ever ready for shit like this, Carl. Never. Don't fool yourself. Sit. Now. I don't want to have to make you.'

So he sat with his knees up and his arms wrapped around his shins and he rested his chin on the smooth denim of the jeans he'd been given to wear. He wasn't a damned baby though. There was absolutely no reason for him to have to sit this out. He needed the proof. He needed to see for himself that his dad had died there on that messy blacktop.

'The hat.' The words jolted Carl out of his thoughts and the hat fluttered to the ground almost at his feet. 'Put it on and use something to hold it there or it'll come off again when on the bike. I don't want to have to keep stopping.' There was a pause as Carl reached out for the hat and ran his fingers over the brim. For now he didn't put it on. Somehow that just felt all too final. 'Put it with the bike then and get over here. You need some sort of lesson in what happens when you run away.'

Carl moved back towards the bike and it happened as he had his back turned. That familiar sound of something bursting into flame. He spun around and looked back where Floyd was standing looking down at something in the road, now roaring with flames. Floyd's head turned slowly and looked back at Carl directly in the eyes. He shook his head and shrugged. 'Put the hat on or away.' He told the boy standing there with his mouth slightly open. 'There was not enough left to bury. Thought this was better. We should get on back now. Tie that hat on or stow it. Hurry.'

'You set fire to my dad?'

Floyd smirked a half smile at Carl. 'Has any one ever told you what pretty blue eyes you have? I'm such a sucker for blue eyes. Hazel eyes too… and green. Oh and dark brown too. Any colour I guess? I'll rephrase that. I'm such a sucker for eyes… but yours have a lovely sparkle to them. Or is that tears? You should cry more often Carl. It's really rather attractive. Hop on the bike now. We're done here. All closed and finished. No need to ever return. Now you have what you needed, some way to say goodbye and the new ability to move on. Why are you not getting over here and onto the bike? Come on boy, don't make me hit you. Not at this early stage. I am here to protect, guide and keep you close. Can't do that if you look like you're about to run off on me. Oh Carl… Carl, Carl… am I going to have to tie you to the _fucking bike!_ Get the hell over here and on it now. Don't try me kiddo. You'll regret it if you do. I really don't want to show you what I am capable of. Not so soon in our budding friendship.'

Carl had no intention of going back to the strange warehouse in the middle of nowhere. He wasn't going to do what this person was telling him to do. 'Thank you for saving me yesterday, but I'm not going back with you.' He felt very sure of himself and didn't sound as though he was going to change his mind.

'You owe me. I demand my payment.'

'I never asked you to help me! I never asked that. I would rather have died fighting them then have left my dad behind. I didn't want to do that!'

Floyd sniffed, ran his hands down the front of his double breasted waistcoat and then sighed. 'You have misunderstood this situation, Carl. I was not saying that there were options here. I was telling you what you are going to do.' Floyd walked quickly so he was standing in front of the sweet and tender boy. 'I came back here for you. I saved you from oblivion and you show me no gratitude and I'm a bit offended. Stop trying to shrug me off, Carl. I'm not going to hurt you. Not unless you give me cause and that's exactly what you're doing right now. Cause… don't fucking mess with me, boy. Now… get on the sodding bike and we shall go back… Sam should have cooked dinner and then we can sit and read to each other or have some other sort of fun. I will keep you safe. I will protect you.'

'I don't want your protection!' Carl howled at the man. 'I don't like you touching me… I don't want you near me. I don't want to go back and have dinner and read! I want you to just give me my things back and let me go.'

It was a hand now pulling down on Carl; forcing him to sit on the road with the smell of his rapidly cooking father not fifty foot away. 'Sit. I need to tell you something. It's important and it's why I won't allow you to have a gun.'

Carl, though, he was shaking his head. 'No.' Yet still he was beginning to lower himself to the ground as he looked at the smoke out of the corner of his eye. 'I don't want to listen.' He could smell Floyd over the stench of the burning body who had once been his dad. He could smell the sweat and dirt and that gorgeous heady musk. For a moment his eyes glazed. He blinked and turned his head to listen to Floyd.

'Options. We have few in life. Right now you have zero. None. Not a one of them. You will sit and listen and understand.' The story began once Floyd had lit up a foul smelling cheroot and offered Carl a cigarette from a white and red pack. He turned it down. 'Many years ago…' Floyd said, 'before the shit hit the fan, there was an incident which caused me much pain and suffering. Many incidences actually, but one of them was by far the worse. I had this special friend. He was the very love of my life and the reason I was alive…'

Carl broke in. 'I don't want to hear how your boyfriend got killed.'

'Good. That's not what happened. I needed to zone out for a while. A goodly while and he was going to keep watch. He had a gun. He was a Fed! Can you believe that I would be fucking a Fed, but I was and very sweet he was too, but I digress… what happened was he fell asleep. Left me vulnerable and someone got a hold of the gun and shot me with it. I survived…'

'Obviously…'

'Don't interrupt and no, it's not so obvious, but yeah, I survived but that incident made me realise how vulnerable I had made my fuck… my boyfriend. I did love him Carl. Though I denied it most of the time, I did… well that day I promised him that I would never carry a gun again and he wouldn't when he was with me. He had to carry for work, but not at home. I am a stickler for promises, Carl… I really never make one which I don't think I cannot keep. I am careful there. Promises are like diamonds. They are precious and only increase in value over time. Promises are life, breath… they are the blood in your veins and the spirit and soul. They must never be broken. That is why I don't want you carrying. That is why I'm not carrying.'

Carl nodded and wrapped his arms defensively around his chest. 'You said that was before the world changed. We have to adapt too. We can't keep promises which are going to kill us. That's stupid. And where is this person now?'

'Dead. He's gone. Doesn't make that promise any less binding because one day, Carl I am going to get him back again and the world will be fabulous and you will help me do that.'

'You said he was dead.'

'I say a lot of things.' Floyd got to his feet. 'Get on the bike. We need to get back.'

Carl remained on this butt on the ground. 'I said I wasn't going with you. I don't trust you.'

'Ah… trust. Never trust me sweet, sweet thing. When you start to reach the point where you think I can be trusted, then you've already fallen far too deep. Dragging your way out of the pit is not impossible, but… well… maybe a story for another time. You'll learn. You do want to do that amazing thing don't you? You won't live the night out here alone. You need me, Carl. You need me and to a lesser degree you need Sam too. Just keep that trust close to your own chest, boy. Come… we need to go. Sam gets grouchy if left too long alone.'

'Is he your son?' Carl got up and sluggishly walked back to the bike. It seemed that he was going to get on it anyway and hadn't there been a delightful smell when he pressed his face into the back of Floyd's jacket? Hadn't that journey out here touched on magical?

'He's not my son.' Floyd smirked. 'Though he likes to fuck with people and call me dad, I'm not his father. He is mine. He is The Sam. Hold tight. Is that hat screwed fully on? Right… off we go!'


	3. Close Shave

CHAPTER THREE

_In the shadows, angels and demons sit and wait and sometimes they reach out and touch you: Isgar-Quenell._

**Close Shave**

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><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

Floyd said this was different. He actually had the balls to say that to me and think that I'd believe his lying arsed self. Floyd is like, you know – doing it all over again! This time I'm here to watch him. I've never seen what he does and how he lures. I've only heard his stories and the very few stories from others who deny it happens anyway, but he's made a big error and he can't fucking see it!

Carl is not going to be a pushover. He's not going to fold like the others. That kid has some backbone. He's seen shit, mate, and he's got more time that he's not had that influence over him. Either start early or leave it later. This is all bloody wrong! Unless there's something Floyd's not telling me. Won't be the first time.

And all the time that Carl is here the attention is going to be gone from me. I just know that! Where will all the love for me go now that kid is here? Am I meant to sit back and watch this process and pretend I don't care? Well I do! I do care!

I want arms around me when I wake up. I want that to be me, you know?

I want that kindness and that feeling that I'm protected, but am I? Am I protected? Fuck am I! I'm here all alone and he's off squelching around trying to do something which is going to piss him off righteously because he's not going to succeed.

So here I am alone. I've been trying on clothes because I'm so bored! There's a whole stock of girly stuff here so for now I'm in a short sparkly skirt – pink and mega glitter – and a Hello Kitty top with cropped sleeves and Oh My Fucking God - I know I look wonderful and I know I look fucking fabulous but I also know that Floyd will laugh at me and he will laugh because Carl will be there and he won't want to look like he enjoys my little cross-dressing games if that fuck is watching. I'm going to have to get back into jeans and a T again and it's not how I want to look and not who I want to be.

Hell – this world is just not filling my needs. Mate, I like bright lights and clubs. I like strange encounters which don't involve tearing out my throat and eating my face. It's actually not my face I want eaten… and I'm not supple enough to pleasure myself with my own mouth. Believe me I've tried and hurt my back and pulled muscles in my shoulders and legs. It's just not possible to do. So… I'm meant to be out practicing with my bow. That's what Floyd wanted me to do, but all the time he's out playing his damned games, then I'm going to play mine.

I hate him!

I hate Floyd so much!

I want him to cuddle me and tell me how lovely I am.

I want to lay under the stars and show him how I can use them to create fantastical mathematical calculations. I want him to ask me something complex and snap back the answer, but his mind is all over Carl.

When do I get a turn?

When do I get something to love and to love me in return?

When do I earn enough stick on stars of wonderfulness to get myself what I need more than anything ever in the world?

When will I get a soul?

It's not so much to ask is it?

**Floyd's POV**

Everything is going to be great. Sam is happy and Carl seems to be seeing things the way I need him to see them. That obviously means that Carl is doing as he is told. He's going to be pissed that his dad died, but he'll get over it. I couldn't have taken them both and the ticket is only for the boy, so Rick was disposed of in a fairly quick and painless way. Really, how long would he have lived with thirty or so Walkers (as they call The Risen)? Not long. It would have been mighty quick. It's moot really. Can't take back what happened and if I could I'd not bother. This is how it should be.

Carl is not an innocent. This is something different for me. I'm used to my marks being sort of out of odds with the rest of the world, but not this time. He's young and sweet and juicy – He's young and tough and he's seen a lot and this might be a bit of a barrier but no barrier is high enough for me not to be able to get around or thick enough for me not to be able to find a way through.

I've scented him. I know maybe I should have used my own personal charisma to charm the lad, but musking him is far quicker and doesn't mean I have to slap him around a bit. I don't feel that he's going to respond to that sort of thing. This boy is going to respond to being kept safe. I'll have to ensure that I get situations where I can do just that. He will learn to trust me. He will. They all do in the end.

It's going to be fun. I can see Sam getting on with him. They're of a similar sort of age… at least by appearance. Sam is ancient. Sam is… Sam… I will muse on Sam later. It's making me wobble the bike and Carl just _woke_ from his slumber there.

The feel of someone holding me, wrapping arms around me and pressing themselves against me like that is something which fills my heart, spirit and soul with joy and such pleasure that I cannot describe. It's a spinning, tightening feeling in my gut and a twitching at the corner of my eye that lets me know that this is all going to be fantastic.

But how long will I have to wait?

I've not had the chances that I've had with others, yet I've had so many more than some too. However, not all of my tickets have worked out well… which is why I'm in damned zombie land with a boy not ripe enough, yet too sweet to resist. It's a punishment. But why keep punishing me with this sort of thing? Can't they think of something more – I don't know – imaginative – less juicy?

**Carl's POV**

I've lost everything except for my hat.

I can't get my head around what Floyd did. I thought we were going to bury dad. I was imagining a pretty tree and a marker and somewhere flowers might grow. That didn't happen. He didn't even ask. He apparently tipped lighter fuel over him and set him alight.

My heart is so broken that I don't know what to do with myself. I know I should walk from this man, Floyd, and keep walking and hope to never see him again. There's something so creepy about the way he looks at me. The way he smiles… never a real smile, but almost like he's finding the whole situation funny. He looks at me right in the eyes as though he's reading my soul and it's uncomfortable and dangerous, and I should have something to defend myself with, but then what's the point?

He smells so good! Is that a weird thing to say? He stinks of sweat and dirt, but there's also another smell which goes deep down the back of my throat and into my head and makes me feel foggy and dumb. I can't describe it really, but it's like I know if I stay with him all will be good. He'd never hurt me. He says he's going to protect me.

I've seen him before.

I know that's crazy, but I have seen him. Way back before all this happened. When I was a little kid at home with mom and dad. Back then. In dreams or maybe in nightmares. It's that smell which smells of safety and comfort but also the way he dresses. That waistcoat with the two rows of brass buttons. The shirt with the dropped shoulders. The hair… that dark, dark hair… and those eyes. I've seen them watching me from the shadows.

There's also – this again is going to sound crazy – but when I woke up with his arms around me and at first I thought it was dad but it wasn't… well I've had that feeling before too. It makes my spine tingle. It makes me want to cry and feel ashamed.

I know I know him.

I know something happened.

I just don't know how to ask without it sounding really weird. If someone a long time ago hugged me as I was asleep, what are the chances of meeting that same person now all this time later, in the middle of nowhere just at the time he was needed? There's no chance.

It's stupid.

I know.

I feel like a silly kid.

I don't like Sam. I don't like him at all. He actually bothers me more than Floyd does. He's so very weird and creepy that I can't even look at him. He walks around with no clothes on and seems to think he looks wonderful. Let me tell you, I saw nothing wonderful. He's skinny and his back is covered in scars like he's been whipped. His arms have scars over them too, like old cuts and stuff. There's something crazy and not right about him, but Floyd… that smell… that feeling that he'd never let me come to harm… somehow that feels right.

It also feels terrifying and wrong.

o-o-o

It was a fuzzy headed and slightly confused Carl who slipped off the back of the bike when it stopped. They were back in the small warehouse which Carl thought was more of a barn, and Sam was standing watching them with narrowed eyes and what looked to be a pink skirt and a tiny top which didn't cover his stomach. For now Carl didn't comment on the odd looking thing standing there not looking very happy with his lot and Carl wouldn't have been too pleased either if he had to dress like that.

Floyd glanced over at Sam as he pulled out a few things, a bottle of water and some dried meats which he'd meant to share on the trip out that day and had forgotten. He then turned his attention fully to Sam who was still standing there waiting for a reaction.

'You look lovely.' Floyd said. The look of surprise on Carl's face wasn't missed by Sam. 'Come and give me a hug and tell me that you've been practicing archery all day and not trying on sweet things to tease me with.'

Sam shook his head and stepped back. 'I've done fuck all. I've been trying on clothes and if you don't like that, you can go suck on something.' He looked at Carl at that point and curled his lip at him. 'Never seen a boy in a skirt?' He hissed. 'Fucking little arsehole. I should slap you one, but I've painted my fingernails with some Zoya and I don't want to chip it. So it's your lucky fucking day. Have fun without me did you? Enjoy your little trip out there? Well that's great because I was left here to amuse myself and if you don't like it, go fuck yourself.'

Floyd shrugged. He knew enough of Sam's mood swings to know that this was nothing to be worried about. Actually the fact that he was a jealous little bunny only let Floyd see how well he – Floyd – and Carl were bonding.

The fire-pit in the centre of the barn had a contraption over the top to hang metal pots on to heat water and cook food. It was to there that Floyd now went and prodded at the remains of the food from the day before. He told Carl to relax and take a break. He said that it must have been a difficult day, but it was mostly over now. No point in looking back on what might have been or what could have happened. Always move forward. That was the only way to get rid of internal, emotional pain.

Sam snorted a laugh at this little talk from Floyd but had no intention of helping with cooking, so went outside to finally practice with the bow. Floyd gave him an indulgent look and then spoke to Carl again.

'I'll teach you the best way to make the most of the food. I'll show you the things you can eat out there in the woodlands.'

Carl shook his head. 'I know what I can eat. I've been shown.' He did wander over to see what Floyd was putting in the pot of food, though. It looked like beans and tomatoes. 'Where did you get all the food and the clothing? It looks like you've been here a long time. How come you've never been attacked?'

Floyd stirred the pot and raised an eyebrow at Carl. 'Who said we'd not been attacked? To be honest with you, Carl, it's been fairly quiet here. We have to actually go out looking for things. No point in waiting for them to come to us, now is there? Sam and I have been here for a couple of years. We used to be hold up in a place on the east coast. It was a lovely house. Wrap around porch, hammock… Sam had a horse for a while. He's not good with animals though. I let it go. But that was a good place. Maybe we could go back there. Fancy a trip to Maine? Beautiful place. Absolutely beautiful. The winters can be vicious, but the cold has never bothered me and Sam… well he survived. Maybe we could do that. It'd mean leaving a lot of this stuff behind though.'

Carl didn't believe a word of it. The man was lying. They couldn't have been here so long and never been attacked. No one could do that. He knew that much. 'No Walkers ever came here? Not ever?'

'Didn't say that. Said no attacks close to home. Not by Walkers and not by other scavengers. We protect our borders.'

'Just you and Sam? How can you protect it? There are no walls or fences. It's obvious someone is staying here. If I had been with dad we would have had a look.'

Floyd smirked at the fool. 'You don't need walls or people to protect something, Carl. You need knowledge and knowhow. You need special tricks and abilities and between Sam and myself, well we tick the boxes. I'll show you. Tomorrow. Not tonight. It's been a stressful day for you.' Floyd attempted to use a concerned expression on his face but it felt wrong and made his nose tingle right at the back, like the beginning of a sneeze. 'Stir this. Don't let it stick to the bottom. I'll be five minutes.'

Carl could hear the sound of Floyd sneezing. He had gone outside and now there was the _eeww_ sound of Sam responding to what Floyd was doing. Carl stood by the pot, slowly stirring it. It was a good chance for him to just pick up his things and run for it. They were both distracted. They'd not miss him if he just left. He was very sure of that. He could even see his gun and knife sitting there on top of a crate of unknown things. But no… he stood there stirring the dinner and wondering what had made Floyd sneeze like that. Allergies? Something he was coming down with? Was Floyd going to sneeze until he died? And did he want his protection dead in the dirt? Did he want to be left here with Sam who he thought was so damned creepy?

'Nosebleed.' The voice was Sam's. If Carl was going to run, he'd left it too late. 'He gets them a lot. Bad ones. You'll get used to it. I guess. If you're going to be hanging with us and it looks like you are.' Sam walked over, snatched the wooden spoon from Carl's hand and licked it clean. 'You've a lot to learn. About us, I mean. I suppose you think you know all you need to know about The Risen… you call them Walkers, and maybe you know all you need to know to survive, but man, you've still a long way to go. You think you're so hard done by because your daddy went and got eaten? You don't know the first thing about pain and suffering. You've not even begun to live yet, little boy.'

Carl gave a shrug. Sam was not that much older than himself and maybe even the same age? It was hard to tell. Sam was still wearing the skirt and top and Carl could see the way Sam's ribs stuck out and he could see the knobbles on his spine. Sam had a hard and uncompromising look on his face… it was only now that they were standing so close that Carl could see the oddness of that face. Apart from the hair on Sam's head and his neatly groomed eyebrows and his eyelashes, there didn't seem to be another hair on him. Even his hands and arms seemed devoid of anything and for someone with such dark hair and such pale skin Carl thought he should see something, if Sam was sixteen as he had claimed. The skin on his face was smooth and almost inhuman.

'What you staring at?' Sam snapped.

'I was just thinking… I was looking…' Carl wiped a hand over his own sweaty face. 'Where are you from? I mean which country.'

Sam sniffed and shook his head. 'That's not what you were thinking. Don't you lie to me you shitwad. You're not here because I want you to be. Get that right, mate. I don't like you and I don't want you here and don't expect me to protect you the way Floyd will. I don't give a flying fuck about you and would rather you dead. Just thought you should know that. You'll never replace me. Never. So don't even go there. And don't lie to me.'

It hadn't answered the question Carl had been thinking – like why Sam was so lacking hair and now thinking about it when he'd seen Sam naked there had been no sign of hairs in other places either. That was maybe what made him look so strange and creepy. That and the scars he could see on Sam's back as he walked away again scratching his arse as he went.

'Where did all the scars come from?' Carl called out. 'Did you get tortured?'

This got a reaction. Sam spun again and marched back to Carl. 'Mind your own fucking business. Like I said, you don't know the half of it.'

'Did Floyd do that to your back?'

'No. No, he didn't.' Sam then held out his arms for Carl to see. 'These, I did these myself and some of it is from Floyd. He will hurt you. I look forward to that day.'

'Can I ask you something else?' Carl asked as he lifted the pot carefully from the heat and placed it on the floor next to the fire. 'Why are you dressed as a girl?'

Sam took Carl by the arm and led him quickly outside. Floyd was hunkered down, leaning against the side of the building, dripping blood from his nose, eyes closed. Sam guided Carl away from the pretty sight and pointed out towards the scrubland and the grey overcast sky. 'What do you see?' Sam asked him, still holding his arm and now squeezing slightly – maybe a bit too hard for Carl's liking.

Carl narrowed his pretty (if you asked Floyd) blue eyes and glanced over the scenery. 'Nothing much. Just bushes and some trees. The dirt track.' There was a small shrug. 'Is there something there I'm missing? Is something out there?'

'Nothing's out there Carl. Not a fucking thing. Nothing. No one to point accusing fingers. No one to say who is right and who is wrong. There's no cops. There are no preachers on street corners. There is no government worth a shit. No one to say what we can or cannot do. Nothing and no one. The land is dying as quickly as the people. It's lifeless and dull. The colours are all general shades of green or shit or green-shit. There's no one and nothing to pass judgement on what I wear and if I want to brighten my life by putting on sparkles then who the hell cares? The laws which made it so we had to dress in a certain way are dead. With no one to judge, then really does it matter what I wear? Does it matter if something was once thought of as girlie? It's only what manufacturers wanted to drum into stupid heads which made people do that. Who really gives a flying fuck what I wear?'

That little speech from Sam cemented in Carl's mind that he had to get away from these people. As safe as he felt when he was with Floyd, he was just too disturbed by the things Sam said. He would take his time, though. Do it right. He would get away from them and maybe eventually... well… he didn't know what else there was. He would eventually die alone out there and there would be no one to make sure that he didn't turn into a Walker and that was something which made him feel sick. That was definitely not something he wanted to happen to himself.

The following week was taken up by being shown the rules. He was told how far from the building he could safely walk. He was even shown things which Floyd said were protection from unwanted guests… little charms made of bone hanging from the trees. Carl was put on latrine duty to dig out a clean pit for them to use and to cover the old one. He was shown how to do laundry and even got to wash and dry his own clothes. He was told that he must wash properly every day and now the matter of hair came into question.

'You will shave.' Carl was told.

He wiped his hand over his chin and looked puzzled. He only had a bit of fluff on his top lip. 'Shave?'

'Not your chin, idiot. Down there.' A prod in the groin from Floyd. 'All sorts of infections start because of filth. Washing isn't good enough. It needs to be shaved. Or waxed. Or depilated. Get your jeans off… I'll do it for you.'

It wasn't going to happen. No way in hell was Carl going to follow that order. He flat out refused and Carl was still learning. Carl didn't know the warning signs. Carl just took that one step too far by slapping Floyd's hand out of the way as it made to undo Carl's belt.

He woke up laying on his back, draped over the cushions. His red and black shirt was still on, but undone up the front, but his boots and jeans seemed to be missing. It felt as though he'd been kicked in the face by a horse. Slowly he moved his fingers over his face, feeling the swelling on the side of his face and the way the skin above his right eye seemed to be split. He licked his lips and could taste blood in his mouth from where his teeth had cut into the soft skin of his inner lip.

Now his hands moved down to his groin.

'Never defy me, Carl.' It was Floyd's voice and slowly Carl turned his head to see Floyd kneeling there looking at him. It seemed that Floyd had another nosebleed. There was blood dripping down from his nose and running off his chin. 'If I tell you to do something there will be a reason for it. Never argue. If I say for you to do something you fucking well do it or I am going to have to show you what happens when you don't. You'll learn. Hope for your sake that you have a good learning curve. Don't want to have to pull your back teeth out just to get you to listen to me. And I will. Ask Sam.'

'You hit me.' Carl stated the obvious.

'Had to. You wouldn't have laid still and let me shave your balls.'

Carl pulled one of the cushions over his lap as he felt tears of humiliation and hate filling his eyes. 'You said… you said you…'

'Oh fucking grow up. It was a little love tap. Not like I stamped on your head. Not this time. Let that be a warning.' A red and yellow pot was then placed on Carl's belly. 'Rub some ointment on. You might be a bit sore. Or I can do it for you?'

The pot of ointment was snatched away by Carl who blinked tears of humiliation, shame and pain away.

o-o-o

As Carl sobbed into his cushions, Floyd stood outside with Sam kneeling at his side. One of Floyd's hands was resting on the top of Sam's head. They were both smoking and looking at the sunset over the distant hills.

'He'll make a run for it.' Sam stated.

'For sure. When he's not feeling sore. He'll be a fool to run when he's got a rash there.' Was that amusement in his voice?

'Rest up tomorrow and run the following morning. We'll have to leave him for a while to give him the chance.' Sam said.

'Righty… I'll put you on laundry out back and I'll go checking up on something… I'll go by foot. He'll go before mid-day but not too early. He'll need to be fully awake. Leave his weapons available. Let him think he's been lucky.'

'We going to chase on foot?' Sam then asked.

'Always. I'll show you how to track him. He smells of lemons… like rain in a lemon grove. It's quite lovely and I'll pick that up easily. Not a problem. Just make sure he bathes the night before.' Floyd ruffled Sam's hair. 'Make sure your bow is handy but apart from that, no weapons. I don't want accidents to happen. This is meant to be a rescue. He's got to want to come back with us.'


	4. The Runner

CHAPTER FOUR

_There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter: Ernest Hemingway. _

**The Runner – The Chase – A Hunt.**

* * *

><p>The day begun much like the one before and the one before that. Sam pulled the old tin bath out of the rear door and readied it to soak some washing in. Floyd said that he had some traps to check and would be gone a couple of hours. He said to just call if he was needed, he'd be just over the way, in the tall grasses which were just beginning to turn yellow and ready for the chill nights.<p>

Carl stood around feeling very conspicuous. He had asked, sort of quietly, if there was anything he could do to help and Floyd set him to sorting out the cans of food in order of dates. Sam asked for any dirty washing… he was going to get the lot done that day even though Carl thought it strange to wash old things when there were piles of new clothing still in wrappers or with tags. Why didn't they just throw the old things away?

'Say, do what?' Sam laughed. 'These, buster are Versace. I'm not fucking throwing this good shit away. Haven't you seen how well they fit? Same with Floyd. He's wearing expensive stuff. Can't be replaced. This stuff in here is all off the shelf shit. Suits you though. I'd rather wash what I know makes my arse look cute.'

That seemed good enough for Carl who wandered over to the cans of soup but was watching Floyd walk out of the front doors of the building, with a knife on his belt. Carl picked up some canned mushroom soup, looked at the date and then put it back down again. This was his perfect chance. Looking over to the crates in the corner he could see his own gun and knife just sitting there like it was calling out to him. Floyd was going to be gone for a couple of hours and Sam was singing something about a ship wreck on a stormy night and splashing with the water.

He moved quickly and as quietly as he could. The gun was strapped on and the knife was clipped to his belt in a flash. Sam was still singing and Floyd had only been gone half of an hour at the most. It was time to go… now or never.

Actually the bracing song from Sam, about the bravery of men when facing doom, was a spur for Carl. He could feel his blood pumping and the adrenaline kick in. Looking out of the front of the building, all he could see was the scrub, some very long grass almost as tall as himself and in the distance, some straggly trees which were the beginning of a large woodland. It was that way Carl ran.

He didn't look back. He didn't think to take water with him. All he could think about was the way his dad had died and the way he had nothing left except what he actually carried with him now. Hat on head… feet pumping, it took only a few minutes to reach the first tree which Carl threw himself around and leaned on, taking long steadying breaths. He looked carefully around the edge of the narrow tree and saw no movement from where he'd raced from. They'd not noticed him leaving. It would be a while before they did and by then he would be long gone. He turned again and broke out into a long loping run, through the sparse woodlands and onwards towards some hills which rolled up in the far distance. He was going to do this!

He had done this!

He had escaped… with his life and only minimal pain.

o-o-o

They watched Carl go. Floyd was kneeling in the grass and Sam watching through a gap in the back wall. They both saw him leg it over the brush and out towards the woodlands and they let him. It wasn't until he was completely out of sight that Floyd walked back to the small warehouse and Sam joined him, soggy and bubbly up to his elbows.

'He's a bit predictable. I knew he'd go for the woods.' Sam picked up his bow and slung the quiver of arrows over his back. 'How long do we give him?'

Floyd smirked at his boy and gave him a sweet kiss on the nose. 'Doesn't matter how long. We'll catch him. I know his scent. Have a smoke first. I'll make some coffee. Give him an hour or so then we can go fetch him back again. He's used to being out there, but not alone and he's not going to be able to run all day, whereas we can.'

Sam smiled a pretty white toothed grin. 'This is going to get the cobwebs out of our hair. Floyd, you know what? Sometimes I hate you so much it makes my ears bleed, and yet the next time I look at you, I'm so bloody glad it's me you love.'

There was no answer or reply to that. Floyd didn't love Sam. Floyd loved no one and nothing. Floyd was capable of accepting and dealing with people. He could even like them to a degree or respect them (rarely) but love? It wasn't an alien concept at all, Floyd just avoided that emotion. It made you weak. It made you think of things other than your own safety. It got you torn apart. Love killed you… and this time around Floyd was going to stay very much alive. Love… let Sam think what he wanted, but all Sam was, was a toy; a pretty distraction.

o-o-o

Carl's full pelt run slowed down after only fifteen minutes. He was already feeling a stitch start in his side and the sweat was pouring down the side of his face. He plucked at the damp fabric of his shirt and wished he had thought to bring water with him. He only took a moment to crouch under a tree and take deep calming breaths. Had they noticed that he'd left yet? He'd taken nothing with him which belonged to either Floyd or Sam so really there was no need for them to come after him. He was just someone they had met on the road. There was no reason for him to stay there. He was just another mouth to feed. They would be pleased that he had left.

So why was he so convinced that Floyd was already following? Why was he so sure that they both would chase after him and drag him back again? It was as he had felt from fairly near the beginning of his meeting with them, it was more of a kidnapping than a rescue. How had they happened to be on the road that day? How had be managed to get away and not his dad? What had really happened… and why did Floyd just burn his dad and not bury him? What had he been hiding? Maybe nothing. Perhaps it was just as Floyd had said, there was nothing much left to bury. They did burn those who were at risk of returning, waking up and becoming monsters so was that why? Was his dad actually still alive? Carl didn't know. He'd not even gone to look! He'd not seen. Floyd said it was to protect him… but now there was a niggling and terrible feeling that it had all been planned.

Floyd and Sam had been waiting. Sitting there on their bikes, watching and waiting, except Sam hadn't been there… he had arrived just afterwards, so where had Sam been? Watching from somewhere else? Had they purposefully brought the Walkers to them?

Ridiculous.

It couldn't be.

Carl would have sensed that.

He got up off the woodland floor and sleeved the sweat off his face and set off again, this time at a gentler jog.

He was making good time. He was quite sure of that much at least. He was already reaching the hills. The choice now was to go over them or try to find a way around and because Carl was not the woodsman he would have liked to have been, he carried on up the slope of the hill and into the thicker line of trees.

It was probably a mistake. He realised that after another hour of calf burning jogging up a rough wooded hill. The sun was at the highest. He was thirsty, there were insect buzzing and biting at him constantly. He was in pain from where Floyd had shaved him… he should have brought the ointment but forgot that too. There was no water. There was nothing to eat that he knew of. The stitch in his side had caused him to stop, kneel and lean forwards, sobbing like the child he was feeling he was, onto the ground. He was a fool. A complete idiot. He thought he had it all planned, but had run off in the wrong direction… with no thought of water or food or what he was going to do when it got dark! He didn't think to pick up one of the lighters and he'd not thought to bring food of any description and he was sure that he was chaffed to the point of bleeding but wasn't going to pull down his jeans to check that.

So he cried. He sobbed and he cursed to himself and he sat for a while looking at the knife and then at the gun, which again, being stupid, he had no spare rounds for.

Another half hour was taken up by standing and looking back the way he had come. Maybe he could find his way back again? It was possible. But it was not certain. The only thing to do was to carry on.

The sun was going down and again Carl was sitting, further up the hill now, with more tears and more cursing, when he heard something off to his right. A scuffling dragging sound and the smell it brought with it was unmistakable. He jumped to his feet with the knife in hand and with his back to a wide girthed tree he steadied his breaths and waited for it hopefully to walk on by and miss him.

If but it was that simple.

Of course it knew Carl was there. It could smell his fear. He could smell the sweat of something tasty and it was going to have a good go at having it.

It moved slowly, a thing with one arm and half a face. He leered and snapped yellow and black teeth and flailed out with its one hand and Carl planted his knife in the top of its head.

It was easy. So damned easy to do. Too easy. Carl sat next to the dead Walker and pulled the knife out. This thing was dressed in the remains of blue-jeans and a work shirt. It had straggles of faded brown hair. He wondered where it had come from. Had this person been local? Had it walked far? Were there others? Had he died protecting his children?

He jumped back to his feet and listened. A snuffling snarl from not far behind him got him moving again. It got him moving fast, crashing through the now thicker undergrowth, smacking his face on low branches as the woodland closed in around him, tripping him on roots and snagging at his arms and legs, slapping him across the face with brambles. The first part of his escape had been partly exhilaration that he _had_ escaped and part fear that he would be caught. That feeling was now long gone. All Carl could feel was pure terror. He forgot to be quiet. He forgot to watch where he was going; which was an easy thing to do as the night pulled in and there was nothing to see but darkness. It was like being sucked into a prickly black abyss. It was as though he'd been dropped feet first straight into hell.

That feeling of falling into hell happened only a short while after he had decided that was actually happening. It was not a free-fall. He hadn't stupidly stepped off the edge of a cliff or high bank, but the slope he was running up suddenly started a slow downwards sweep and the forward momentum of Carl's body tipped him head first down into a spike filled darkness of pain.

He had no idea how far he had rolled and cried out for. He had tried to grab a hold of things to slow himself down, but was met by sharp objects which tore at the skin on the palm of his hands and stabbed into his side, his back… the side of his face. One of his shoes was ripped off and thrown into an unknown place. His hat was torn away, even the string he had there to stop him losing it on the back of the bike was snapped, but not before it dug deeply into the soft pink flesh of Carl's neck.

When it ended it was laying on his back staring upwards at stars and deep dark black tree branches. He let out a sobbing cry of maybe distress or perhaps self-pity or anger. It might even have been pain, because there was a lot of that there. Sharp shallow pain in his ribs and face and a deeper more threatening pain in his stomach and neck. He wiggled his toes and could feel them, so the panic of a broken back died down. He could move his fingers, though it hurt to move his arms, he thought he hadn't broken anything. For now he did nothing but lay there taking long and deep breaths and attempting to stop that shuddering sobbing feeling which was trying to break out and make him look like a child again.

There was a noise off somewhere. Another scuttling sound. Hopefully it was just an animal. If a Walker came upon him now he would be dead and Carl was suddenly aware of the stupidity of this whole situation. The gun somehow was still at this side. He realised that as he rolled over and it dug into his hip. A quick check let him know that the knife was gone. He hissed out a curse from between his teeth which were chattering with what he would claim was because he was cold, but was more likely shock and more than a touch of pain and fear. The cut above his eye had opened again and was dripping down and making him blink manically. He wiped at it with annoyance and tried to look around to see if he could find his missing sneaker, but it was too dark to see much more than his hands which were held out in front of him throbbing where the brambles and other things he'd tried to clutch hold of, on his way down, had snagged and torn and dug into them.

He knelt for a while. Careful breaths. He knew that if there was anything in the area it would have heard him and for now at least all he had heard was the scuttling sound which had slowly drifted further away. It wasn't a Walker. He hoped… either way it had gone now. Everything had gone. The light, the feeling of hope… the thought that he could do this alone… it had all been ripped from him on the way down. He moved to sit and pushed his aching back against the side of the slope he had flown down with such grace. It had been such a stupid thing to do! So stupid. He had been a first class idiot and he knew that. Now all he could do was to wait until the sun came up again and hope that nothing came this way and sniffed him out. He held his arms up and could just about see how much they were shaking.

'Shock.' He muttered to himself and though it had been such a quiet word it sounded as though it had been a shout. His own voice made him wince and pull back further into the darkness.

Light was just creeping up over the trees when something happened. Carl let out a yelp of surprise and jumped to his feet, digging stones and twigs into the foot with no shoe. This seemed to have been a problem solved. It was his sneaker falling onto the ground next to him which had made him jump.

Then a _thwub_ sound as his knife appeared, hilt upwards, in the dirt next to him. That hadn't just fallen. Carl knew that much. Someone had thrown it. Slowly he turned his head and looked upwards to see Floyd standing there looking down at him.

'Put your sneaker on and get the hell up here. What the fuck did you think you were doing? This isn't your game, Carl so stop trying to play it. Get the fucking thing back on your foot and pick up the blade. You're lucky I didn't slide down there and slit your stupid throat.'

Carl looked at the face with deep resignation. All that trouble for nothing? 'How did you find me?' He then picked up the footwear and slipped it back on after wiping the bits off his green sock.

'You weren't too hard to locate. I sniffed your stupid self out. Get! Get moving. I want to go home. Never know what's creeping up on you out here. I like to keep my back covered. Why are you not moving yourself?'

There was a shake of the head from Carl who now replaced the knife but was twitching his fingers over the gun. 'I don't – maybe I – I'm not sure that I want to go back with you.'

'Didn't I say I would protect you? I did. I did say that. I meant it. I don't give a shit if you don't want said protection or not. That's what's going to happen and I can assure you that if you don't move your hand from where it's hovering that Sam will stick an arrow in your shoulder. Won't kill you. Will hurt you. Certainly will stop you from thinking you could possibly shoot me. Now stop fucking around and get the hell up here. I'm not climbing down there to get you. Carl… you don't look like you trust me. If I didn't want you around I'd not have come looking for you, or maybe I would have just to see you die… pinned to a tree like a fantastical butterfly… captured forever… forever dead. Now that didn't happen so get your sorry arse up here.'

Carl looked down at his toes and moved his hand away from the gun. He had been right when he thought this was more of a kidnapping than a rescue and it was happening again. 'I could just walk away.' Carl told him.

Another voice called out now from the other side of the gully he had fallen into. 'Can't walk away if I stick an arrow in your knee.' It was Sam. Carl turned now to look up at the boy who was wearing normal boy clothes now. An arrow was pointing in his direction. Carl let out a long defeated sigh and started his clamber back up the slope towards Floyd. It wasn't steep and was not a problem in the daylight. It had just surprised him in the darkness. By the time he got back to the top, Sam was standing there next to Floyd, arrow put back in the quiver and smug looks on both of their faces.

'How did you find me?' Carl asked again.

He got another strange reply. 'Followed the scent.' Floyd twitched a smirk at Carl and grabbed one of his hands. 'I'll give you something to keep this clean when we get back. Until then wash it.' He handed Carl a water bottle. 'And then have a drink. Child… if you're going to try to get away, plan it a bit better. You made it far too easy this time. Sam hardly learnt a damned thing.' He took the bottle away from Carl and slipped it into a backpack he had over his shoulder. 'On the way back I'll show you some things you can pluck up off the ground and from the trees. Things which could keep you alive – or if not alive – at least happy.' A bit of tree bark was now thrust into Carl's hand. 'Morning-Light.' Floyd told him. 'Might look like a bit of old tree to you, but I can grind that down and smoke it. Good tobacco substitute if mixed with other things.' Now a mushroom was put into Carl's other hand. 'The Lady's Mask.' Floyd now said. 'It's a mild painkiller. I'd chew on that now if I were you. It's a long walk back to base and you look a tad battered.'

Carl wasn't going to let the matter that they'd found him so easily and in the dark, go. He had climbed to the top of the slope and begun his questioning almost as soon as he had regained his breath. Saying that he found him by smell was stupid and he knew that much, but neither of them seemed to have flashlights and they didn't seem to be out of breath from running either, so they had rested before calling down to him, or they had walked all night.

'You went in a bit of a circle.' Sam told him as he placed some big green leaves in Carl's hands. 'I thought your dad would have taught you better than that. You know? How to keep in a fucking straight line? Not that it mattered. Those leaves have a cooling property to them if crushed and applied to cuts and grazes. Just crumple them in your hands. Seriously, Carl, your dad was shit with the teaching of outdoor skills.'

'And your dad is so perfect?' Carl snapped back, looking over at Floyd who was lighting a cheroot.

'Floyd? He's not my dad. Really, Carl… that would be disgusting if he was. Not that the laws of this country really hold true any longer. Killing people won't get you locked up these days, but fucking your kids would still be frowned upon. He's not my dad. He's something else entirely and I don't feel like telling you all my secrets. Crumple that leaf… or just throw it away if you don't believe me, but warning you kid, if you don't start listening and learning you're going to be in a world of pain. Floyd's teaching methods are not always this pain-free.'

Floyd now moved in on Carl, dropping the cheroot to the ground and heeling it into the soft earth. He grabbed Carl under the chin and looked at the place where the hat string had caught him. Floyd placed his other hand on Carl's shoulder and pulling him in closer, Floyd drew in a deep breath. Carl could feel the flow of cool air over the skin on his neck and then the warmer air of Floyd breathing out again. Carl dared not to move and what happened both terrified and revolted him. Floyd licked the sweet pink skin which had been grazed. He moved his mouth over Carl's neck and up the side of his face, over the top of his eye to the cut which had re-opened. He nuzzled and breathed, licked and seemed to nibble on Carl who stood with eyes so wide open that he thought his eyes were going to fall out. Having Floyd that close meant he could smell that rick musky smell again. Carl took in deep gulping breaths through his nose as though that smell alone would save him from this creature who seemed to be so close to biting into him that he both wanted to scream and beg Floyd not to stop. When he was released and Floyd stood back out of the way there was a strange silence. A feeling as though everything in the world had held its breath.

'Not all of my lessons are painful.' Floyd twitched an expression on his face which Carl couldn't read. Was that pleasure? He thought maybe it was. Floyd had enjoyed what he had just done. 'My kisses… they heal. You'll learn that quickly enough.'


End file.
